


Tempting Fate

by gaymer_girl



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, F/F, Female Eivor (Assassin's Creed), I hurt my feelings writing this, I love them so much, Mutual Pining, Oneshot, WLW Romance, assassin's creed Valhalla - Freeform, i hope I hurt yours too lol, no major spoilers, these two are so cute, yearning for each other because that's the good shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:55:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27784090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaymer_girl/pseuds/gaymer_girl
Summary: Eivor is met with a challenge in more ways than one.
Relationships: Eivor/Randvi (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 207





	Tempting Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first piece for any Assassin's Creed game (ignores my Kyra/Kassandra mini fic that sits in my WIP folder). I love the series so much, and I have been obsessing over Valhalla over the past two weeks. I love, love, LOVE F!Eivor/Randvi so much, and I needed to write about them.
> 
> I recently finished the game, actually. Wonderfully done imho, despite the bugs (Ubisoft please just fix it esp the BS with the Samhain cape) and I can't recommend it enough!
> 
> This little drabble is dedicated to everyone who loves F!Eivor/Randvi as much as I do, and for those who haven't finished the game yet and want a spoiler-free fic of these two pining after one another. The only "spoiler" is in relation to the mini quest you go on with Randvi herself, sooooo you've been warned!
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not as skilled in flyting as Eivor is so please forgive the potentially crappy verses please and thank you :)

A small laugh, meant to tease and persuade, is what started it all. The silence of the night broken, a hand lightly pushing a strong shoulder, goading, almost _begging_.

“For are you not supposed to be decent in flyting?” was the question posed, a brow cocking just enough. And then there was a tug of a smirk in victory as blonde brows twitched just barely, almost indignantly, in response.

“‘Decent’?” was what she spluttered, arms folded. “Who told you that I was ‘decent’?”

The night was far from young, the air sweet and damp, carrying the earthy scent of rain that had fallen. Their footsteps were muffled by the soft path beneath them, breath fogging in front of their lips when they spoke. The village was empty, but the homes glowed with candlelight, life, and warmth. Trees shook in the breeze, droplets meeting their fate one the dirt path.

Eivor had returned to Ravensthorpe only hours ago, and Randvi had almost rushed to the docks to greet her—like she wished to do each time her scouts informed her that Eivor’s longship neared. But, like always, she managed to remain in place and wait for Eivor to approach her first and report. It was such a beautiful night, Randvi had pointed out as she and Eivor took in Ravensthorpe from the mouth of the longhouse after their meeting, so they should enjoy all it had to offer before they rested their heads.

And so, they walked, chatting, and somewhere along the way, Randvi had started to tease Eivor. Such baiting was not lost on Eivor. She had always enjoyed Randvi’s company, and they often spent time together when Sigurd had been away for those two long years. And Randvi would joke with Eivor, give her the business, and grin at Eivor’s quick wit and, sometimes, flustered responses when Randvi would manage the rare words to take Eivor by pleasant surprise.

Thus, Randvi’s smirk only curled a little wider as Eivor's hackles raised in defense. “Word travels, Eivor. Such is the way of things.”

There was a scoff. “You’ve heard slanderous rumors. I am not _decent_. I am _proficient_ , well-versed. I have slain with my words from Norway to England.”

“More so than with your axe?”

“Well, let us not get ahead of ourselves.”

Randvi laughed again, impishly observing the pouting warrior as they reached the longhouse. “Well-versed, you claim,” said Randvi, enjoying the continuous tiny, disgruntled frown on Eivor’s face. “I’m not sure. You claim slander, but how do I know that you’re only as good as you think you are?”

“What, exactly, are you playing at, Randvi?” Eivor demanded, stopping their stroll to stare down at her. Their height difference was not massive, and in no way was Randvi terrified of how Eivor glowered at her from beneath her brows, so such posturing was not the usual advantage Eivor had on others. In fact, Randvi thought it was rather hilarious how Eivor was tossing on the mask of intimidation over the petty insult of the word “decent”.

“Playing at?” Randvi repeated.

“Yes. Is there something you want from me? Or are you trying to wound my pride by telling me there are rumors about my lack of eloquence in the art of flyting. Do you know much silver I’ve made for myself by putting any and all challengers in their place?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve earned plenty, but perhaps your opponents were simply frightened by the way you grimace into the horizon with such…” She patted Eivor’s cheek, like a mother would do to a disobedient child. “Disdain.”

Eivor was stunted by the sudden, chiding contact, but she recovered quickly and threw back her shoulders, drawing herself up to her fullest height. “You mock me.”

“Only because you let me.”

“You’re one of the few who have such a privilege.”

“And I’m honored.” She looked Eivor up and down, the wheels in her head turning. Eivor waited for her to speak, recognizing the pensive expression from many long and arduous meetings across the alliance map. Then, “Eivor…”

“Randvi?”

“I… challenge you.” Randvi titled her head, raising both brows once in a dare.

There was a short, boastful laugh. “Challenge me? Randvi, I know you well enough to know you are no fool, and can hold your own, but think about what you’re doing. Challenging _me_ at flyting.”

“I understand what I’m doing. I still challenge you. Or do you think you’ll lose against me like when I bested you at drinking.”

“I went easy—”

“You did not. You kept choking on your drinks, and I _won_ , Eivor. And I’m confident that I can best you at flyting all the same. Perhaps you'll choke on your words this time around.”

Eivor mulled over her words, running her tongue across her teeth. It was hard to deny the lovely, devilish smile Randvi was flashing at her. Such a smile had stolen Eivor’s breath plenty of times, adoring the hidden wild woman beneath the pragmatic mask she wore so often in certain company. The sleight of hand she seemed to have without breaking the guise was admirable, and Eivor managed to see right through it when Randvi let her.

With a breath, she raised a hand and said, “Fine. You may go first.”

“You’re _so_ kind, Eivor,” Randvi said with a roll of her eyes. She pressed her fist to her mouth and cleared her throat. “You allowed me to challenge you, so honored am I; To be up against Wolf-Kissed, though you might be surprised. My flyting is strong like my ambition to win…”

“But your inevitable loss will be felt through your kin,” Eivor responded quickly, grinning. “Yes, you challenge, Randvi, but you will soon see; That nobody is better at flyting than me. You claim you will win, but your rhythm is weak…”

“Oh, all of your comebacks are ever so meek. Brace yourself now, for I will flatten your pride; But they will write it in history that you gave it a try.” Randvi stood on her tip-toes so she could be nose to nose with Eivor, and the taller of the two seemed to shrink at her advance. “And although we are dueling with words oh-so wise—” Before Eivor could input her responsive verse, Randvi kept pushing forward. “—Winning your heart would be my ultimate prize.”

Eivor froze, staring at Randvi wide-eyed. A success, Randvi thought, stepping back and folding her arms over her chest. Her smile was victorious, as she expected such a verse would take her opponent aback. Normally, Randvi strayed from such flirtatious tones with Eivor, but she simply couldn’t help herself. And if it meant that she beat Eivor in this flyt, then it was worth it.

“Did I stun you, Wolf-Kissed?” Randvi teased, the melody of her voice still bouncing with rhythm. “Is my battle won?”

Eivor said nothing. She blinked the look of surprise away and regarded Randvi curiously, considering her next words very carefully. The other woman simply inclined her head, silently accepting her win, and was about to turn and head to the longhouse without Eivor, but her arm was captured softly in Eivor’s grasp, stopping and pulling her back.

“With a verse such as that, we’ve only just begun,” Eivor said, her gaze upon Randvi’s face tender and sweet. Randvi all but melted under the warmth of those intense eyes, knowing that such gentleness was reserved for a chosen few. “My heart, you say, will be a trophy to air; Then losing this battle, I would not care.” She tugged Randvi just a smidgen closer. “For how could I resist such a tempting fate…”

“Then I’ve already won, for you’ve taken my bait. You stand before me, and I can’t look away; And when we’re apart, I’m filled with dismay.” Randvi frowned slightly, realizing her words were taking on a truth she did not intend. It was supposed to throw Eivor off, cinch Randvi the win, but now she could not help herself. “I’d wish you’d remain longer, close to our home…”

Eivor was so close now that Randvi’s heart was pounding painfully against her chest. The hand on her arm was not leaving, but Randvi did not mind. She was lost in the icy blues of Eivor's eyes, barely registering her voice as she countered Randvi's verse, “I only think of you when I choose to roam. If fate were much kinder, I’d see you as mine…” She seemed to hesitate, but Randvi was quick to press on.

“… I know this pain well. It’s been here for a time.” She tore her gaze from Eivor, deciding to end this flyting challenge before she took it too far. “I’m sorry to have dragged this all out in a verse; It was meant to surprise you, but I made it worse. We already know that this cannot be…”

Eivor’s other hand stole up and cupped Randvi’s cheek, softly guiding her until their eyes were locked once more. “Hear my truth, Randvi, you’re the only one that I see."

Everything was screaming at Randvi to push forward and kiss her. Kiss her over and over until they couldn’t take it anymore and escape to the longhouse and warm the bed together. Randvi had grappled with her feelings toward Eivor alone for far too long: the spark when they first met—but Randvi had been promised to Sigurd. And when Sigurd left for his two-year voyage, alone time with Eivor only made those sparks glow brighter than the lightning off Thor’s hammer. She brushed them away, channeling those feelings into the bonds of friendship, but the lie was bitter on her tongue. And now Sigurd was gone again… and Eivor was here, alone, with her again, and the bitterness of the lie was too intense to deny.

She did not regret kissing Eivor on their day out together, but Eivor’s pained refusal, despite admitting her own desire, had broken Randvi in two, although she did not show it. Even as they spoke well into the night afterward, Randvi was in her head. Once Eivor had fallen asleep, Randvi returned to solid ground in silence, and made the walk back to Ravensthorpe in shame, spending the quiet time she had on her own to reflect on what Eivor had said. When Eivor returned to her the following morning, worried and ready to question, Randvi shut it down and moved forward with their plans to forge alliances. Business as usual. Whatever Eivor’s reason was to say no, she respected it and trusted her judgement.

But, oh, how she wished Eivor would have thrown it all out out to be carried by the wind and worry about it another day.

With all that in mind, Randvi stepped back twice, Eivor’s hands dropping to her sides. She knew she had trekked too far into the realm of velvety dreams that made falling asleep a little easier each night she was alone. The more they carried on like this, the easier a mistake could be made.

“Randvi, I… I’m sorry,” said Eivor.

“No, it is I who should be sorry. I’ve once again put you into a position that is compromising and…” She fought back tears. “I cannot do that to you. I care too much about you as both a friend and… well.” With a hard swallow, she turned her back on Eivor and made toward the longhouse. “I shall name you the champion of the flyting challenge, yes?”

Eivor chased after her. “Randvi… I just… I _can’t_.”

“Can’t accept the win?” Randvi tried, almost desperate to switch the topic to a lighter one. “I’ll gladly take the burden from your hands.”

“You know what I meant.”

Randvi stopped at the threshold, bracing herself for the difficult conversation ahead. She had talked casually of death, betrayal, hardship, and destruction with an immeasurable amount of people, so why did this seem to chill her bones like the coldest winters back in Norway?

Quietly, “Because of Sigurd.”

“Yes, but it’s not just because he is my brother.” Eivor moved in front of her, desperation written on her face. She considered hiding the truth, but she needed Randvi to know. So, “When I… when I spoke to Valka about my visions, I found that I would betray Sigurd.”

Randvi frowned sympathetically. “You’ve known for a long while, I’d imagine.”

“Yes, but I’ve seldom spoke of it. How I will betray him, I am unsure, but… I can’t—I don’t want—I _won’t_ betray him.” When Randvi didn’t speak, Eivor pressed on. “If I were to act on all I wanted with you, it would be a betrayal.” Her hands twitched, almost as though she were debating on reaching out to take Randvi’s hands, to share the desperation itching on her fingertips. “I _want_ you, Randvi. I burn for you in ways that I cannot describe. No amount of practice in verse could help me explain how this aches.

“But believe me, please, when I swear to you that I would have you in my arms if I could. The fate is tempting, it’s torture, but I must deny it if it leads to the destiny I wish to evade. Even with admitting my feelings… I fear I have gone too far.”

Randvi searched Eivor’s face, noting the shine in her eyes, and how it was a contrast to how they normally sparkled. They once sang songs of valor and hungered for battle, but now the songs were sad and the battlegrounds were cold. Again, she wished to kiss her, if only to wave such sorrow away. But she could not keep putting Eivor into the path of temptation.

“I understand,” she said finally. “I wonder, how long will you have to run from this fate?”

“I am unsure,” Eivor admitted. “I’m hoping it does not have to be forever, and one day, I will be able to indulge these feelings to their truest form. Until then…” She trailed off, closing her eyes in defeat. “I am sorry, Randvi. This is not easy for you, either, I’m certain.”

A silence fell between them. The sweetness of the night air was gone, and the cold around them was not as inviting, stinging the cheeks that were once warm with the company of the object of their affections. Crickets chirped underfoot, the wind shivered by, bringing with it the rich scent of the roaring rivers that would soon carry Eivor toward her next adventure when it called her name. And Randvi would be alone again, waiting eagerly for Eivor to return home, despite the pain that she could not greet her with a kiss and an embrace. Even when Sigurd had been gone, she did not miss him with the same fervor that she held for Eivor.

Randvi regarded her beloved, eyeing the knot that had formed between her brows and the rivers that were threatening to break away from the dams made of her lashes. She took one step forward and kissed Eivor’s cheek, brushing her thumb across the curve of the other. Even the simplicity of the kiss warmed them both, but it did not linger for long.

“I will not torture you further, Eivor,” she whispered against her skin. “I will not see you suffer.”

“Randvi—” Eivor almost broke, she almost wrapped her arms around Randvi’s waist and dragged her in for a sealing kiss that she so desired, but Randvi had already moved away, walking into the longhouse. Eivor opened her eyes and whirled around. “Randvi, please, I—”

“Eivor, we must shun such thoughts from our minds.” Her voice cracked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly. She wouldn’t let Eivor see her cry. “Your loyalty and love for Sigurd is honorable, and I understand that it must come first if you wish to fight your destiny as Odin did.”

“I will not banish my feelings.”

“I cannot stop you from doing so, but I _will_ banish advances in order to help you. If I must. Please do not let it come to that, Eivor. It would hurt me, too.”

And with that, Randvi vanished within the longhouse, leaving Eivor alone in the cold dead of night. The stars did not glimmer as brightly between the splits of the clouds anymore, the village around her seemed to dim and darken, and even the crickets hushed, almost in mourning for Eivor's heart. The warrior stared after Randvi's shadow, lips parted slightly, feeling a bitter sting in the center of her being.

Birstan once asked her if she ever felt the ache of love, and Eivor had all but dismissed his words in hopes of maintaining the momentum of their conversation—she had work to do then. She had no time to discuss such ridiculous notions. But deep down, she knew what he had meant. She knew that feeling of undeniable attraction of mind, body, and soul. She had fought hard against it, never knowing that such a battle could be so strenuous. She had seen the yearning in the eyes of many of her allies, and she thought it foolish to let feelings cloud their vision, lying to herself that she would never be blinded like them.

But she could not deny how her heart hammered the closer she got to Ravensthorpe, how Randvi’s name called her back, how she’d catch herself staring at her from over the alliance map. How when they feasted with everyone, Randvi would choose to sit beside her among all others, hang onto her arm, and laugh with mead-rosy cheeks. How she'd dream of Randvi so vividly underneath the impressive skies of England, and think they could never compare to her beauty. How she thought of what home was, she always saw Randvi as an integral part of it.

Yes, Birstan once asked her if she ever felt that terrible, beautiful, _painful_ ache of love, and she knew what he had meant… especially now.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's that! I hope you enjoyed it! Perhaps I'll write more little tales for Valhalla another time. Otherwise, stay lovely and game on!


End file.
